Aftershocks
by ichthyosaurus
Summary: Although the war has ended, lingering anger threatens the fledgling peace. Predictably, Sokka and Zuko manage to land themselves in a heap of trouble while searching for Ursa.
1. Chapter 1

Aftershocks

_After the war has ended, lingering anger jeopoardizes the newfound peace and a new threat may emerge from old enemies._

Chapter One

Sokka was, frankly, thrilled. The adrenaline, worry and anger that had built up for months lay dwindling in his chest, calming, but even two weeks after the war ended they sent up wild flurries whenever he remembered the sensation of falling off of a leviathan airship, and the explosions ripping apart the air. The great plumes of fire that rose up, a scorching wave of rippling heat, the ghastly inferno on the ground and above as he and his little band drove great heaving blows into the unsuspecting fleet. Then, briefly, the sickening sound of something in his leg going horribly wrong. But the rest of it, in retrospect, was really cool.

He was remorseful for the loss of his beloved boomerang and meteorite sword, and determined to make ones even better than their predecessors. It'd give him something to do while he waited for his busted leg to heal. There were some definite advantages to a heroic injury, however: Suki was awfully tender, Toph threatened him less than usual, and he received admiring looks from warriors and giggling girls alike.

At that moment, Sokka was taking advantage of one of many perks. He was reclining in a fine robe, dozing in the sun, with Momo curled near his head and a cup of icy juice within easy reach. A piece of parchment lay discarded on the floor, the result of a painting attempt that even he had to admit had come up short of anything resembling the lemur that lay sleeping beside him. His crutch leaned against the reclined chair, but he wasn't inclined to go anywhere soon. While laying still, the sensation in his leg was reduced to a dull throb that he could ignore if he really put to use a meditative exercise Aang taught him. But Sokka wasn't a guy cut out for meditation. Even at that moment, utterly relaxed, a thousand thoughts and images pinwheeled through his head. And so his leg ached.

Apart from Momo, Sokka was alone. Suki was making up for some lost training time with her crew. His father was directing the Water Tribe warriors' preparations for returning home to the Southern Pole. Toph was probably chatting with the Earthbenders. Aang was off somewhere, probably with Katara—Sokka was still wrapping his mind around that—and Zuko was busy already with lordly duties, which mostly involved soothing inflamed tempers.

Sokka didn't envy him. Zuko had an immense workload before him, several hard long years of repairing the damages a century of war had wrought. There were lords to flatter, rich merchants to placate, and camps to make for countless displaced refugees. The wound was so fresh, still so sharp, that it would be a long time before an Earth Kingdom merchant would dare to cross deep into the Fire Nation, or a Fire Nation citizen to walk unattended through the streets of Ba Sing Se, a place still bristling with indignation over its fall to Azula and its would-have-been victim to Ozai's bright fury.

Considering the poor guy's position, Sokka had only teased him about his Fire Lord's apparel a little. Only a little, but enough to remind Zuko that Sokka wasn't about to treat him any differently now that he wore a crown. Zuko had blushed and rustled uncomfortably in the rich garment, and Toph laughed and took up the game. He left it to her to keep the newly minted Lord on his toes while Sokka was out of commission.

He imagined he could see the Water Tribe warriors busy at loading their ships with provisions for the sail home. A pang of regret made his leg ache more forcefully. His return home would have to be delayed until his leg had healed sufficiently for him to travel. Yet again, he would be separated from his father and his tribe. They couldn't wait for him; now that the Southern Tribe was in no more danger of raids, it was time to rebuild what had been destroyed and restore their home to its former size and strength. He and his father had already said their goodbyes to each other. Hakoda had sensed his son's disappointment and given him a reassuring hand on the shoulder.

"This time it's temporary," he said, smiling.

"We've said that the last _few_ times," Sokka pointed out.

Hakoda laughed and hugged him, Sokka leaning forwardly awkwardly, taking pressure off his leg. His father had stepped back with an indescribable look: it was mingled sadness and joy, but mostly a beaming pride. "Stay off your leg," he advised. "Get a lot of sleep. Don't sail until you're ready. Be careful." Under his guise as chief lay the father that he was, first and foremost. Sokka had to smile, and then Hakoda left for Chameleon Bay after parting with Katara.

His sister was not heading to the Pole quite yet, either. Sokka suspected that she had the wandering heart now, a travel bug that would not allow her to settle back home quickly. She'd grown used to the summers and the leaves and flowers, things denied children in the frozen wastes back home. For his own part, Sokka missed glacier hopping and spending long hours just fishing on a meandering boat in the middle of an icy nowhere. His place was with their father, back home. He hadn't yet broached the topic with Suki and dreaded the eventual decision that would have to be made.

He was getting dangerously close to brooding when General Iroh stepped in serenely, bearing a tray laden with tea cups. "How are you feeling?" Iroh asked kindly, setting the tray down and handing him a cup. The tea was a spicy brand, the only type Sokka had yet cared for. He wasn't much more for tea than he was for meditation.

"Thanks," Sokka inclined his head. "Um, good, I guess. Well—they feed me a lot, anyway. That's good."

Iroh chuckled at that and patted his stomach, which was not so pronounced as Sokka had remembered from many months before. "A full stomach makes for a happy heart," he intoned, "and makes other pains bearable."

"That's smarter than anything your nephew ever said to me," said Sokka. "All he ever said about food was some junk about silver sandwiches, and he really wasn't talking about eating."

"Did he really?" Iroh looked pleased. "I admit I had not expected him to remember that proverb. It's good to know he listened to my words. Even if he could not properly repeat them."

"You should hear his tea jokes."

If anything, this pleased him more. "Tea jokes?" he asked. "My, how my nephew has changed! Not only did he find his destiny, he has discovered a sense of humor."

It was a recycled, fledgling sense of humor, Sokka wordlessly reflected, and a poor one at that, but it was definitely an improvement on the old grouchy prince. He was pretty sure. "Well, I've still got time to work on him a little. Then it'll be left up to you."

Iroh laughed a little and settled back on a chair. A moment later he began to hum, a deep resonance that filled the air pleasantly. Sokka closed his eyes, and tried to think of a perfect material to work with for making a new sword. He sighed, a little wistfully. As Piandao had said, it had become an extension of his arm, an elongation of his mind and strength, and not so easy to let go of. Where was he going to get a substance as impossibly cool as meteorite?

The sword and the boomerang had a certain sentimental value, his efforts and accomplishments manifested in satisfyingly pointy sharpness. He remembered when, what seemed like ages ago, he once was forced to leave his boomerang behind or risk getting roasted by the Rough Rhinos. It had been difficult even then, without the added loss of his fabulous sword. He felt irritated, sullen that his identity could be stripped away so easily, when nothing could take away Aang's power or Katara's waterbending.

As if sensing his unease, Iroh stopped humming to gently chide him. "You should relax, young man. I should think that a warm afternoon nap would relieve a busy mind, but it only seems to trouble yours. Enjoy this while you can; breaks from struggle are short-lived."

Sokka yawned and stretched. "I guess I'm still just getting used to the idea of—well, you know. Peace." He looked outside, at the sun and people moseying around, and heard faint rings of laughter. "Maybe I'll go look around a bit."

"Do you need a companion?" Iroh asked amiably. "I admit, I should like to stretch my legs a little."

"Sure." Sokka suspected that Iroh meant to keep an eye on him, but he liked the old general. Kind of reminded him of an Aang that was older, just a little wiser, and not as suseptible to caffeine highs. He let Iroh give him a steadying arm while he groped for his crutch.

The streets were crowded and noisy, descending into the middle rings where the average civilian lived and worked. Some children raced by, fearlessly playing an earthbending game with rocks, with mothers chiding halfheartedly behind them. Vendors were hawking out wares and a gaggle of kids were clustered around some lizard one of their cohorts had discovered under a merchant's stall. Several stared openmouthed at Momo, who was riding atop Sokka's head as he hobbled along. More than a few were staring at _him_, their eyes wide in recognition.

Excellent aromas drifted to him from potshops and homey holes in the wall. They were a mixture of noodles, rice, steaming vegetables, and—meat, glorious meat. He'd just eaten but the smells reawoke his stomach and it rumbled discontentedly. A moment later he looked suspiciously at a chuckling Iroh, fairly sure he'd heard the old general's belly growl too.

"Who are we to deny ourselves?" Iroh quipped. "Ah, this place is a marvel." He steered Sokka gently to an indiscriminate shop that advertised a famous meat and bread soup, with sauced noodles. The store owner brightened as they walked in.

"One of my favorite customers!" he said with a wide smile, evidently recognizing Iroh only as an old regular and not as the infamous general. "I'd given up hope that you'd come back! Guo, get them a table!"

Sokka recognized a salesman's sincerity and grinned. Iroh smiled, a tad guiltily. "It would seem I gave this shop custom a little too frequently," he confided. "But we all like to feel welcomed, do we not?"

A waiter rushed forward to guide them to a table in the midst of talkative eaters, next to some potted ferns, and set down chopsticks and a tea kettle. Sokka picked at the ceramic until some cups were placed in front of them, and Iroh poured them both some tea. "The tea here is good enough, although a little mint would improve this admirably," he said, tasting it. Sokka decided he really couldn't tell it apart from a thousand other teas, but liked the man too much to say so.

"How's your tea shop going?" Sokka asked. After reconquering Ba Sing Se and settling the minor conflicts thereafter, Iroh had immediately set into refurbishing his shop, clearing out the debris that Fire Nation soldiers had dumped into it and scrubbing the place out. The anticipation for its reopening was felt everywhere in the middle rings, and people passed by everyday looking hopefully at the large wooden sign with "COMING SOON" painted in bright red characters.

"It is going splendidly," Iroh said happily, adopting the joyful expression he always had when speaking of his beloved shop. "I have some excellent new blends to add to the menu—and new menus, as well! I think Ba Sing Se will find it an improvement over the old one. I am thinking to rename it."

"Do you think it might be different now, now that—you know, people know who you are?" Sokka asked. "Will it change things?"

"Perhaps," Iroh allowed. "But it does not concern me. Where there is good tea, there is someone who will appreciate it."

Sokka had his doubts about that but they were driven from his mind as lots of steaming, juicy, flavorfully fragrant meat was set right in front of him, _right_ there, right where he could touch it and love it and eat it. Iroh's expression mirrored his own and they gazed fondly at their plates for a blissful moment before attacking them energetically.

One of his favorite feelings in the world was having a mouth so stuffed he couldn't possibly manage a word. For a few merciful moments it distracted him from his leg, which up to that point had been insistently clamoring for pained attention. "S' good," he mumbled. Iroh could only nod, burdened with ballooned cheeks.

A few men were led to a table on the other side of the potted ferns, hidden from sight, but Sokka could hear their chairs scraping against the floor. He paid them no more mind, returning his attention to his meal.

They were finishing up, Sokka looking wistful as his food dwindled, and both leaned back in satisfaction patting their mouths.

A thought came unbidden. He remembered an old Water Tribe tradition that took place when one man asked another into his home, to make a trade or ask a favor. The host set out a feast for the visitor and invited him to eat his fill, and denied him nothing during the meal. It was a gesture of respect from the host for what he was about to ask. Then, after they had finished, he would make his proposition and the visitor would accept—he almost always accepted, as it was rare for a man of the Water Tribe to deny a brother a favor.

Although there was no indication that this meal came with a catch, Sokka felt a little suspicious anyway. Call it instinct. Iroh had already displayed a knowledge of the ways of his tribe.

To his credit, Iroh waited a few more minutes while giving their stomachs a head start on digestion.

"Sokka," he began.

"Yeah, sure, I'll do it."

Iroh looked surprised. "You know what I was about to ask?"

"Naw," said Sokka.

The older man chuckled. "I should have guessed." And then his smile faded slightly, his face sobering. He took a drought of tea, seemingly considering his words. "Did my nephew tell you that he visited his father, where he sat imprisoned? Incidentally, he is now occupying the cell I once did."

"He didn't say he did, but I guess we all kind of knew." Zuko had come to Iroh's tea shop for their last memory all together, melancholy and distracted at the beginning but livening up the longer he had stayed. It was hard to stay somber through Sokka's jokes, Toph's teasing, and everyone's happy relief. Sokka peered at Iroh, who seemed to be waiting for him to speak again. "He asked about his mother, didn't he?"

The old general nodded, and set down his cup. "He told Zuko where she was, at his last knowledge."

For a moment Sokka couldn't speak. There was an awful feeling in his stomach, something bitter and jealous. Suddenly he resented Zuko more than he ever had when the boy had devoted every waking hour to hunting down the Avatar. And he remembered that there would never be anyone who could tell him wherehis mother was, that she had gone to some place he could not follow.

"That's great," he forced out. "That's wonderful."

Iroh regarded him for a brief few seconds. "I hardly need to say that he intends to find her."

"Right."

"But he should not do it alone."

Quickly recovered, Sokka raised his eyebrows. "You don't think he can take care of himself now? Maybe it's something he ought to do alone. I can't think he'd want anybody along."

"Perhaps not," said Iroh, looking him steadily in the eyes, "but he is no longer Prince Zuko, a stray young man who had to rely on himself and his own ability. He is Fire Lord now, and he has a responsibility to his people to act safely and reasonably. If truth be told, he ought not be leaving his position at all."

"He's going to anyway," said Sokka. "I don't think he'd listen to either of us on this."

Iroh nodded. "That is why I want you to go with him."

Sokka sat back in surprise—that had come out of nowhere. He tapped his crutch. "Did you forget about this?" he asked. "And this?" He pointed to his leg, which stuck out awkwardly to the side of the table as though he hoped to trip passerby. "I don't think I'm going anywhere soon—else I'd have left with my dad."

Draining his cup, Iroh looked at him levelly. "It would prevent you from traveling on a rocking, swaying ship, yes. However, I don't believe an Eelhound would ask much of you." He set down his cup and lowered his head. "If you do not think yourself able, I understand. Your leg is only beginning to heal. This is not a light favor. It is your choice."

"I said I'd do it," Sokka said a little irritably. "I just don't know what help I could be. Katara, Aang, Toph—any one of them's more capable than I am. So are you."

"By what standards do you judge capability?" Iroh smiled. "Perhaps you cannot run or jump for a long time. Perhaps you don't need to. But from what I have gathered—you are a voice of restraint. Of reason, yes?"

Sokka didn't know what to say to that, and he held on to his crutch uncertainly. "Sometimes?" _Reasonable_ wasn't always the first word someone used to describe him. As often as not, it was an antonym for his personality. "So basically—you want me to keep him from doing something stupid."

"My nephew is an... intense young man, however else he's changed. I know that you have good sense. Please think about it," Iroh said gently. "See how you are feeling, and decide from that."

Sokka shrugged. "I'll go. I owe him one, anyway. Besides," he said warningly, "I know what you're thinking. You're only as fast as your slowest man—and I'm no faster than a Snailsloth right now, so he won't be either." Iroh's faint smile told him he was right. "Besides," Sokka continued, "he and Katara just egg each other on. Toph would too." A thought occurred to him. "Does Zuko know you're asking me this?"

"Not yet, but I don't think he would begrudge me this one request, do you?" the general said fondly. "I have asked him to see me before he sets off, and then I will let him know."

"Spring 'im, more like," Sokka muttered. Laying a surprise on Zuko was approximately as safe as sneaking up on an Armadillo-lion and screaming "boo." It occurred to him that there was nothing more to eat now that he had effectively demolished his meal, and it depressed him to sit in a restaurant where he wasn't actually dining. He grabbed his crutch when a gravelly voice caught his attention, coming from behind the potted plants that separated their table from the next.

"I heard that old man's reopening his tea shop," the voice said. "What do you think about that?"

Vague, but Sokka paused anyway, wondering if they were talking about anybody _he_ knew. Iroh, gathering himself to stand, appeared to have not heard them.

"I think it's the most ridiculous thing I've heard of," said a second voice, deeper and harsher than the first.

Across the ferns, Sokka leaned closer. Iroh looked at him curiously, frozen there with his ear to the plants. He stopped and listened too, and couldn't have missed the next thing said:

"I can't believe that Fire Nation scum is allowed to come _live_ here, and open a business," said the second man again, his words fringed with disbelief and contempt. "After all he's done? The Earth King is out of his mind. That man—a dragon, they call him, more like a gecko to me," this was met with a guffaw, "oughtta be punished, not set up in the cozy ring of the city."

"I heard General Fong's not too happy about it either," said the first man confidentially. "He was _furious_. Went right to the Earth King and practically ordered him to kick the dragon out of the city, if he wouldn't take the man's hands off."

Sokka's eyebrows shot up to the level of his hairline. General Fong? Sokka remembered_ him. _It was a distasteful memory, to say the least, although the warrior smugly recalled clunking him on the head. By nearly smothering Katara Fong had managed the very dubious feat of provoking Aang into an uncontrollable state of rage that culminated in reaching the Avatar State. Fong was lucky Aang hadn't wiped them all out. Almost afraid to turn around although not sure why, he looked sideways at Iroh.

The old general stood there with a tired expression. Then he drew himself up and began to leave. Sokka wasn't so keen to go and hovered uncertainly near the plants, hoping to catch more new of General Fong, who he hadn't realized was in the city and had uneasy feelings about. Lingering alone, however, would only attract attention and so he reluctantly took his crutch and hobbled after the general with a little huffing.

Iroh waited for him outside the door. His expression plainly said that he did not desire to discuss the topic, but Sokka mentally waved the frown aside. Not even the Dragon of the West warranted too much diplomacy from him. Despite his wisdom Iroh was still Zuko's uncle, of the same blood and occasionally the same temperament. Stubbornness was also a trait shared between the two.

"Maybe it's not a good idea to reopen your shop so early," Sokka urged. "Wait a while, until people simmer down. I didn't like how they were talking."

As he mostly expected, Iroh didn't think much of this. "Angry words are powerless, young man," he said firmly, "and mustn't sway our resolutions. I do not allow such things to intimidate me."

The sentiment behind his words was temptingly courageous but Sokka brushed them away. Gallancy didn't outrank reason. "There's courage, and there's sense," he argued, cringing as he accidentally put too much weight on his leg. "Angry words lead to angry ideas that lead to angry actions. Maybe you don't let them scare you, but don't just disregard them either."

"My boy," said Iroh, sounding stern. Sokka wondered how often he'd taken that tone with his nephew. "I thank you for your concern. But the bitter thoughts of a few men do not represent an entire city's mind. I have held my own against somewhat greater threats than some discontented soldiers. I am quite capable of taking care of myself and my tea shop."

It was a gentle but firm way to remind Sokka of his place, and he hated that. "And you're the one who thinks I'm a voice of reason," he muttered.

Iroh looked at him in surprise, and then a grin slowly spread and he laughed heartily. After a short hesitation Sokka chuckled too, with a vague uneasy feeling in his stomach. And in the eyes of the people pressing in around them, he looked for anger.


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks for the great long reviews! Really appreciate it. :)

Aftershocks

Chapter Two

It would be a long time before Zuko would be capable of being angry at his uncle again, if it ever happened at all. He settled for being merely annoyed but even that was drowned in guilt and a faint, niggling sense that his uncle may have the right of it in this case as he had in so many others. Still, it would have been nice if he hadn't waited until the feast to break the news that Sokka would be accompanying him on this journey.

He supposed he ought to be grateful that it was Sokka, and not Toph, Aang, or maybe even Katara. They were all well meaning enough, but it was a tricky subject and the water tribe boy was the only one who understood his feelings and was conscientious enough not to figuratively step on his emotional toes. Truthfully Zuko was fortunate that he didn't have an honor guard in tow wherever he went, as the new Fire Lord of a nation beginning its rise from turmoil. One temporarily lame young warrior was a small price.

He looked sideways, down the dais where Sokka was busy shoveling food into his mouth as fast as politely possible. His metabolism was a marvel. He sat several places down, in a spot of high honor that was not so elevated as to offend any of the officials who deemed themselves worthier to share Zuko's side. These men he ate with were lords and generals. Although Sokka had played a valuable role in the defeat of the Fire Nation airship fleet and showed undeniable skill, he was still only the son of an isolated village's chief and to sit him at Zuko's side would have been a slight to the honor of men whose cooperation Zuko absolutely needed to restore peace to the beleaguered Earth Kingdom. Even his presence on the dais was treated as a light affront.

Toph sat with several ladies, looking thoroughly bored. It was strange to see her draped in expensive and fashionable women's clothing when she normally tried her hardest to look and act like a boy. It was funny too, but he dared not tease her about it. She'd threatened to give a solid crack for every crack made about her, and Sokka had already earned himself a few.

To Zuko's left sat the Earth King, newly returned to Ba Sing Se and sporting a tan that bespoke his recent travels. Bosco was basking in a corner, loudly enjoying the fish some nervous servants were tossing to him. King Kuei was in fine spirits, obviously thrilled at the turn of events that had been taken in the last few weeks. A feast had been scheduled for when Zuko returned to the city briefly, before moving on to 'settle outstanding business' elsewhere. Sokka had snorted when he heard that.

If he recognized the faintly distasteful looks directed at him every once in a while, he gave no sign of it and instead scarfed down his food and talked cheerfully to General Xue, who genuinely seemed to like speaking with him. From time to time Sokka would gesture wildly with his hands and General Xue would listen raptly, occasionally interjecting with a question. From Sokka's illustrative motions and the grudging interest of lords and generals seated around the water tribe boy, Zuko gathered that he was describing the execution and planning of the failed but infamous invasion attempted on the Fire Nation capital.

Through the jokes and the strategic accounts Sokka wove together seamlessly, Zuko did not miss the bright blue glare he turned on a particular general every now and then. He didn't recognize the man, who seemed sullen and untalkative throughout most of the meal and sat at the very end of the dais. Zuko leaned slightly and quietly asked King Kuei who the man was.

The king gave the general a cursory glance. "General Fong," he answered promptly. "An excellent soldier; he's served us well. Not high-born, but his audacity won him a great deal of honor and his title as general."

That might explain any animosity directed at Fong from other soldiers and lords, as Fong was lowly born, but didn't account for the irritation on Sokka's part. Zuko would have liked to observe further, and it was a testament to his trust in Sokka's judgement that already he felt a disliking for the sulky general, but a Fire Lord is incapable of eating unbothered. Questions and praises were shot at him constantly, some catapulted from several seats away. His answers were carried from diner to diner in a weird version of the children's message game.

Aang was absent from the table. Where he would have sat next to Zuko, one lord or another occupied the place and seemed thrilled to be there, preening and sharing looks discreetly with others. Zuko was thankful that his queen mother had instructed him in social graces; otherwise, his boredom and discomfort would have been crystalline clear. He wished he was sitting near Sokka. Wherever that boy sat seemed to be a place of energy and good humor. He was even winning over some of the diners that had initially been wary of his presence at the table.

He scanned the tables for Suki and her group. He saw them seated together in another place of honor, Suki at the head and resplendant in her traditonal warrior's garb and facepaint that seemed as natural to her as her own skin. Even Ty Lee looked utterly at home in her costume and place around her new friends. She had always been too good-natured to remain at Azula's side forever. Sometimes Suki and Sokka met eyes across the space. He had likely already told her about his little trip.

They'd leave later that night. Zuko's stomach dropped uncomfortably.

Iroh sat a few places down, close to Sokka. Zuko wished he'd been seated nearer but bit back the urge to ask for a reordering that might disrupt the fragile egos of the men he was dealing with. His uncle was fully engaged in Sokka's recount of his adventures. The words "my sister had a fit" and, a moment later, "the ice started to glow" drifted back to him, and he had no doubt that Sokka was telling of his first encounter with the Avatar. He wondered how Sokka would address Zuko's involvement in these stories.

At last the feasting was done. Zuko had eaten sparingly from each course but his robes still felt uncomfortably tight. He rose as graciously as he could. The night was not yet over. In the tradition of a great feast, music and dancing proceeded the meal. Already musicians were plucking beginning notes on their harps and a great brassy sound came from a Tsungi horn. Zuko didn't know any dances but he figured he'd be busy speaking with pressing lords and ladies the whole time anyway.

Sokka hobbled over while the servants were clearing away dishes. He was wearing clothes of the Water Tribe that Zuko hadn't seen before, something left to Sokka by one of the departing warriors. It was about as close to "dressing up" as the Southern Water Tribe got. In the way that dragons often snarled on Fire Nation clothing in bright red and gold threads, a white wolf prowled the front of his shirt. A line of fierce-looking teeth was strung loosely around his neck and white animal skin lined his waist. It was a stark contrast to the elegant patterns and cuts around them, and people took notice. Sokka either didn't see it or ignored it.

"Katara always says I've got two left feet," he said brightly. "But it looks like I don't have any tonight."

"Count yourself lucky," Zuko mumbled, suddenly unsure that he wouldn't be called upon to dance.

The other boy looked around. "This kind of dancing's weird, anyhow. It's all—orderly."

"How is it in the South Pole?"

"Wild," Sokka confirmed. "People think that's because we're uncivilized, but really we're just trying to keep warm."

Zuko laughed. "So what kind of animal's teeth are those?" he asked, gesturing at Sokka's necklace.

"Seal-bear," said Sokka, pointing to one. He tapped another. "Bear-wolf. Hare-fox. And Bato swears this one came from a mirka but I don't believe him."

They all looked the same to him. "I can't tell the difference," Zuko said. "What's a mirka?"

"Mythological snow beast," Sokka said dismissively. "Something told to frighten the kids around the fire. Gran-gran says they're angry spirits trapped in monster bodies. There aren't any real ones." He inspected the tooth closely. "I can't tell exactly what it really is. Probably a misshapen seal-bear."

"I'd like to visit your home some day," Zuko said, looking around at all the pageantry.

"You'd better. It's a gesture of reconciliation they probably expect from you."

Zuko turned back to look at Sokka, whose expression was now frank and watchful. "I will," he promised. "Soon."

Sokka smiled and shrugged, turning to look at the room full of dancers. "It's funny. I haven't seen my home since you last saw it. Are you ready for this?" he asked suddenly.

"What?" said Zuko, surprised.

"To face your mom. I mean—to find her. She might not be the person you remember. You're definitely not the same son she left behind. Have you prepared yourself?"

Zuko looked at him closely. He was serious. "What's there to prepare?" he asked a little defensively. "I go there, I get her and bring her back. That's all there is to it."

Sokka rolled his eyes. "That's never all there is to it. Forget it. You'll deal with it when you get there."

The new Fire Lord was annoyed now. "What's that supposed to mean? Why should it matter? Why would anything have changed?"

"You changed, about a thousand times," Sokka shot back, quickly exasperated. "Look, I just don't want to have to go through another round of you bellyaching about the person you've been. It's over, that stuff is done with. If she's the mother you remember, she won't care, I _don't_ care, and the only person who will be interested in hearing it is you. I'm not going to get saddlesores on an Eelhound for several weeks just to listen to you angst about a reunion with her." His blue eyes drifted over Zuko's shoulder. "Some peacocks headed this way. I'll see you later tonight."

He limped away in the direction of Suki, presumably to say good-bye. Zuko frowned at his back, wondering why it surprised him whenever Sokka's words turned biting, and turned back to force a smile at one of the wealthy lords sweeping his direction. He spied Toph at his uncle's side, looking desperately bored.

The night passed agonizingly slow. He tried to keep a mental clock running in his head. It'd been a few hours; surely the night would be ending soon? But there seemed no end to the nobles who wished to present themselves to him, or the women who hinted at the attractiveness of their respective daughters. He wasn't sure what Mai would have to say to that, although it made him smile to think of.

"And this, your Grace, is General Fong," said one lord whose name he'd already forgotten, but had taken it upon himself to acquaint the young lord with everyone of importance. He lightly drew forward the large, bearded man that Sokka seemed to have a problem with at dinner. The general bowed stiffly, and Zuko inclined his head.

Fong was powerful-looking, with the characteristically strong features of a capable Earth Kingdom soldier. It was a face that might smile for friends and sneer at enemies in equal measure. His clothes were elegantly militaristic. His hands were the size of dinner plates, and he kept them at his sides now. Zuko imagined he could see them twitching with a desire to clench. "It is an honor to make your acquaintance," he said in a deep voice with booming potential. It lacked any warmth. No smile even attempted to curve his mouth; it was as stony a face as he'd ever seen.

Across the room, in the corner of his eye, he saw Sokka staring hard at them. He wished he'd thought to ask him about the general.

"And yours," Zuko returned dutifully.

The general nodded again, looking strained. "Will you be staying with us long?"

"No," Zuko answered, hoping he managed to disguise his relief. "I mean to journey south to see to relations there." Specifically, his own relation. They needn't know the details; it was a matter intensely private and he had no desire that anyone should know until he'd brought his mother back to the capital. He didn't like Ozai being so near her, though. Perhaps he'd send him to the Boiling Rock.

"How long shall you be away?" the nameless lord asked.

Zuko caught himself before he shrugged, a distinctly ignoble gesture only lowborn used. "Some weeks. There's a lot that has to be done."

Fong glowered. "So much has been done already."

"General!" said the lord, shocked. His hands fluttered like white birds, wringing and then flying into an appeal for grace from Zuko. "Your Grace, he means no offense—he is recovering from this war, as are we all—please do not—" He sputtered to a stop as the Fire Lord held up a hand.

Zuko lowered it, looking Fong into the eye. Somehow Sokka must have anticipated this. Even now, he saw the boy edge away from Suki and watch intently. "General Fong has a right to be angry," he said as graciously as he could. "Were I in his place I might feel the same."

This didn't placate Fong but instead appeared to antagonize him. With a pronounced sneer he exaggeratedly bowed his way out of the cluster of men. Turning his back, he pushed roughly through the crowd, his fists truly clenched now. Sokka watched him like a hawk, and Uncle Iroh had adopted an expression that Zuko knew well—feigned disinterest. He had no time to dwell on it however; his attention was immediately called back to the men around him. Here was his battle now, only with words.

Lord Whats-his-name was beside himself. "Your Highness, do disregard him, he hardly knows better—common born, you see—hardly educated..."

Zuko had suddenly had enough. "I'm not going to declare war all over again, just because of one man's words," he said scornfully. The abashed look on the noble's face betrayed his worry. "He's only saying what a lot of people have to be thinking. It's not a big deal."

"As you say, Your Grace," the lord murmured.

"I have a long trip ahead of me," Zuko said. He could feel a headache starting, surrounded by the music and talking and subversive grumbling. "I should go prepare. Thank you for your assistance tonight." He tore himself away from the disappointed nobles and made his way for the exit, willing himself to walk slowly and purposefully and not run like he really wanted to. Was it always going to be like this, smiling through insult and patronization?

He approached his Uncle, Sokka, Toph and Suki. Iroh and Suki looked wary. Sokka was scanning the crowd; Zuko guessed he was keeping an eye on Fong. The water tribe boy scowled. "He's lucky he got off so easily," he said angrily. "Don't think I'd have been so lenient. I hope I gave him a concussion. Who's that he's talking to?"

They turned to look. Fong was speaking heatedly to a man in a green coat that was unfamiliar. "Don't know," said Zuko, turning to narrow his eyes at Sokka. "What do you mean, he got off easy? You gave him a _concussion_? Is that why he hates me, because I'm with you?"

"No, Your Worship, that was all you," Sokka shot back snidely. "Never needed _me_ to make your enemies for you. And it happens he doesn't like Iroh either." He jabbed his thumb at the old general, whose face was carefully serene.

"What? Did he threaten you?" Zuko demanded. "Who _is_ he?"

"General Fong," the other boy replied promptly.

"I know that."

Sokka raised his eyebrows. "So did you even pay attention when you were learning the trade from Dad? You know your own generals, but nobody else's?"

Boy was _he_ short tonight. For a second he hoped Sokka's leg was really sore that evening. But he was right. "No," Zuko admitted. "Not really. Tell me about him."

"He commands a large regiment not too far away from Ba Sing Se. We met him before we knew Toph. We thought he could help us...he convinced Aang that instead of training in each element, he ought to try and master the Avatar State. He tried everything he could to trigger it."

"This is already sounding really stupid," said Toph laconically.

Sokka grinned faintly. "You haven't heard the worst of it. Nothing he tried worked, and Aang let slip that he had only ever managed to reach the State when he or someone else was in genuine danger." Zuko had a bad feeling, and Suki looked incredulous.

"He didn't," she said, awed.

"He did," Sokka confirmed. "Attacked Aang, and when that failed, he practically—he sank Katara into the _ground_ and almost smothered her, he would have—bastard," he bit out savagely. "Aang glowed it up and nearly destroyed the whole place. Fong magicked Katara back out of the ground and tried to say it was only a trick, he wouldn't really have hurt her, but it was too late. He's lucky he wasn't killed."

"How'd it end?"

"I whacked him on the head with my club," Sokka said a tad smugly. "Should have hit 'im a little harder."

Suki shook her head, though she was smiling. "You do have a way with people."

"Hey!" he said defensively. "Fong started it. I don't know why he's here. Zuko, tell your uncle it's a bad idea to open his tea shop."

Iroh looked amiably stubborn. "Zuko, do not presume to tell your uncle what he will or will not do." He gave Sokka an amused smile. "You insolent young pup. Don't you know I'm old enough to do what I want?"

Sokka made a beseeching face at Zuko, who held up his hands in a gesture of noninvolvement. "What, you think I'm going to give _him_ advice? It's his decision. By royal decree," he added with a grin.

The boy sighed in frustration. "Iroh was right. I am the only one here with any sense. You ready to leave?" he asked, eyeing the ruler.

Zuko's mouth turned dry. "Yeah," he croaked. "I'm ready." He was not ready.

While Sokka kissed Suki goodbye and joked with Toph, at one point landing himself a punch in the shoulder, Zuko stood in front of his uncle, with his eyes lowered and his heart heavy. "What will I say to her?" he asked softly. "How can I explain to her what I've done?"

"If your mother is the strong, good woman I remember," Iroh said, taking him by the shoulders, "you will not have to. She is your mother and she loves you, so very much. What transgressions you have made are overshadowed by the good things you have done. You are more her son than your father's, and she will know that immediately."

"Thank you, Uncle." Zuko smiled, and hugged him gently.

Then he and Sokka left the group to the food and dancing, music and gossip. The halls outside the throne room were oddly quiet by contrast, although echoing mutters were hearad from cooks and servants scurrying about their business. A few looked curiously at the two but raised no questions, for which Zuko was grateful. They were silent as they stopped at their respective apartments and gathered their things. Both had packed lightly, but Sokka still struggled with the pack on his shoulder as he leaned heavily on his crutch. Wordlessly, Zuko took it from him and the water tribe boy nodded his thanks.

"How's your leg?" he asked after a while.

Sokka slanted him a sly look. "Not broken enough to beg off," he assured.

"I didn't mean that. I don't mind you coming with." It was a strange thing to admit.

Evidently Sokka thought so too. "You don't?" he asked, genuinely surprised. "In that case, it hurts, thanks for asking." He said it with a grin.

Zuko smiled. "Uncle told me the healer said it was broken in three places."

"Did your Uncle also tell you I was lucky it was my leg that broke, and not my neck? Or back?" Sokka looked disturbed at the prospect. "What a thought. Let's drop it."

Among his possessions, Zuko felt, was a long, wicked knife. He peered at it. It was fringed with what looked awfully like human teeth, and he decided not to ask about that. "What about your boomerang?" The incredible sword, he knew, was lost somewhere in the forest lining the shore of an ocean. He hadn't heard about Sokka's boomerang, a wickedly sharp thing he distinctly remembered snapping at him from behind and sending stars into his head, a long time ago when things were very different between them.

"Gone," Sokka said morosely. "The one time it didn't come back. Must've flicked my wrist wrong, or miscalculated; I didn't think the soldier would have changed the trajectory that much..." He sighed as any other man might mourn for a lost lover. "But—" and here he drew glinting metal from a pouch at his side—"Dad gave me another before he left. It might even fly faster. I haven't had much chance to try it out yet."

It certainly _looked_ vicious. Zuko was growing used to the feral nature of Water Tribe weapons, but this one had a barbaric quality he hadn't encountered before. Its ends were chiseled to a point and the sides were sharpened to the keenness of a knife. When he looked closer, he saw serrated edges along one side. "How are you going to catch this?" he asked, indicating the serrations.

"Very carefully."

They came to an exit out of the palace. Outside the air was crisp and pleasant, losing the humidity that it had swelled with during the day. An Eelhound, the same that Sokka had ridden on with Suki and and Toph to catch the airship fleet. It snuffed at them when they approached. A palace servant stood by with the reins in his hand, and helped them load their scant possessions onto the beast. Zuko clambered up easily and reached down to grasp Sokka's arm to the elbow. The other boy grunted with effort and considerable pain, but with the servant's help they managed to get him up to sit in front of Zuko. He leaned over awkwardly and tied his crutch to the saddle, then took the reins from the servant.

"Good speed, sirs," the man said politely.

"Thank you," said Zuko, and with a lunge and a whuff of air they were off.

* * *

Stay tuned!


	3. Chapter 3

Aftershocks

Chapter Three

* * *

The late hour and rocking motion of the Eelhound made Sokka drowsy, but the sharp wind whistling through their hair and snaking down sleeves and folds made sleep impossible. He peered up at the stars that lay like pinpricks in the sky, or tiny jewels sewn into a dress. Sometimes he imagined Yue was holding court there, with the stars paying attendance. That night her face was half-shrouded in shadow, as though she were peeking from behind a thick curtain. He felt detached from the ground whenever he looked at the sky.

Behind him, Zuko was quiet. Sokka let him be. Truthfully, he wasn't sure what to say; nothing seemed appropriate and a few lame jokes had fallen flat on the thin night air. They'd lapsed into silence. Zuko's apprehension was palpable and off-putting.

Sokka busied himself with thoughts of home, and what he would do there once he returned. There was the wall of course; that was the first thing the warriors would rebuild. Now that the Fire Nation had relinquished control over the Southern Waters, pirates would get bolder once the merchant routes reopened. His village would suffer no more attacks, he was determined about that. They'd restore the collapsed buildings and re-carve homes out of ice and packed snow. More ships would be built to support the suddenly free trade routes, one of the largest being a direct line to Omashu that would required strong, hardy ships to make the journey. First they'd have to trade for wood, and material for rope—

"Where are we going?" he asked all of a sudden. "We're headed south, but to where?"

Zuko drew himself out of silence, like rising from clinging mud. "A place called Chengdu. It's in the southern province of the Earth Kingdom." He paused. "Did you ever pass that place, with Aang?" Nonchalance coated the words but fooled nobody. The thought that either of them may have passed mere miles from where Ursa was now was one that terrified Zuko, and dragged lost time to mind. Forcing a smile, Sokka shrugged.

"You would know, wouldn't you?" he chuckled. "No, I don't think we did, but don't hold me to that. After a while all the towns got to looking alike."

"Someone told me it was a seaport town, people coming and going all the time."

"That's where your mom went?" Somehow Sokka expected a place more secluded, like a monastery or isolated home. "Did she choose that place, or did he send her there?"

Zuko shrugged, scanning the area before them. "She was taken there, and decided to stay, I think," he said, but Sokka could hear the uncertainty. He was sure that Zuko's conversation with his father had not been so simple as a question-and-answer session. Privately he was surprised Ozai had given Ursa up so easily, rather than use her as leverage to advance his own position. It's what Sokka would have done.

"So, he just... told you?" he asked, knowing he was treading on thin ice. "Just like that?"

"Why would he lie? What would it gain him?"

"Spite," Sokka muttered. Consternation radiated from the boy behind him. It occurred to him to be optimistic. "Or, you know, maybe he's telling you the truth," he amended, "and he's hoping to get in your good graces."

"Don't lie to me," Zuko said sharply. "That's not what you really think."

"It doesn't matter what I think. You're right; lying would get him nowhere." He didn't add that it would get _them_ nowhere too, something that the bitter Ozai would find a satisfying prospect. Personally Sokka wasn't convinced Ursa was alive, but he valued his well being too much to suggest anything to that effect—at least, without a sword and a mended leg to support his hypothesis. Maybe he was heartless, like Katara had once accused him of being. A secret envy still heated his stomach, giving him a sour taste whenever he considered the outrageous idea that his mother was dead and was going to stay that way, while Ursa was rising from the ashes of Zuko's memory.

His grip on the reins was white-knuckled, he realized. Maybe it was a bad idea to tag along with Zuko. Even if he could keep the new Fire Lord out of trouble, who was going to watch out for Sokka? It'd only been a few days since they'd set out and already he was feeling irritable, both from his injured leg and his wounding jealousy. His mood was tempered by a guilt and the knowledge that Zuko had absolutely nothing to be sorry for, and if nothing else Sokka would not go so far as to allow his emotions to overcome his better sense. Sokka was sensible. Sokka was reasonable. Sokka thought things through.

Sokka also missed his mother, so badly he forgot to breathe sometimes.

The land they breezed over was largely flat and featureless, one tree blending into another in green-brown blurs. Sometimes bright eyes peeked out from between skanky shrubs, but quickly shrank away from the bulk of the Eelhound. Deep blue-black had beaten back the remaining light and they were riding through a world that had gone to sleep. Part of him enjoyed the sensation, but a larger and hungrier part loudly demanded he get off the beast, go shove something sustaining into his stomach, and go to bed so he could do it all again tomorrow.

"We should camp," he suggested.

As he halfway expected, Zuko made no immediate reply. He was loathe to stop each night, and Sokka had no doubt that if given the choice he'd ride continuously until he fell off the Eelhound from utter exhaustion. An admirable determination, but Sokka wasn't up for it and no matter how Zuko would deny it, he wasn't either. "Just a few hours," he urged. And then, though he hated to say it: "I've got to stop. The leg."

It wasn't a lie, but that didn't make Sokka feel like it wasn't blackmail. Finally Zuko grunted acquiescence and Sokka gratefully pulled on the beast's reins. They came to a stop on a hill overlooking a bubbling stream. Zuko went off to wash his face, and Sokka collapsed almost where he landed on the ground, and went right to sleep without bothering to gather a blanket. Soon soft snores reverberated from his area.

He had no idea what time it was when Zuko shoved him awake. "Wake up," he hissed unnecessarily.

"I got no choice if you keep pushing," Sokka groaned, rolling over. "Just another few hours, okay? It's not even light yet."

The pushing became more insistent. "Shh. Someone's here."

Cursing Zuko colorfully in his head, Sokka forced himself to sit up. His leg ached and he rubbed at it. "So? Travelers. What's the big deal?"

"I saw him further down the stream," Zuko said lowly, scanning over his shoulder. Shadows shrouded his face, and the dying embers remaining from the campfire made his eyes glitter strangely. "He ran when he saw me."

"Duh," snapped Sokka irritably. He guarded his beauty sleep jealously. "How's he to know you're not gonna rob him? Shut up and go back to sleep."

"It didn't feel right."

"Then go chase him. I'll be right behind you." Seeing Zuko's faint scowl in the dimness, Sokka rolled his eyes. "No seriously, what do you expect me to do about it?"

"Just be aware," Zuko said solemnly. "I don't like the odds of meeting a lone traveler this far out in the middle of nowhere. If he _is_ alone."

Paranoia was a trait of Zuko's that was not going to abet soon, Sokka saw. "Fine. If he comes around again you can light up his ass like fireworks. I've got my boomerang and some pointy sticks. Nobody stands a chance against us."

Seeing that the other boy was not about to trouble himself with concern, Zuko growled and crawled back to his sleeping pad all the while keeping a wary watch around them. Sokka went back to sleep soon enough; before he did, he saw Zuko's eyes glinting from the embers and knew the young lord would keep them open until dawn. If he had not been traveling with Sokka, he would likely have gone chasing off after the stranger; as it was, he didn't dare leave Sokka alone and let themselves be separated. Sokka supposed this was Iroh's thinking at work, and rolled over and thought about it no more.

He was woken up again, no more pleasantly than he had in the middle of the night, by a miserable ache in his leg. Only a month or so and it'd be healed—right? If he treated the injury kindly, romanced it a little, took it out for tea and a show. Rambling was a common tool to deflect the pain. He could feel it in his bones. Ha ha. He groaned, not in the mood for even his own jokes. Telling himself that the splint had done its job and the crutch was doing the rest, he scrambled up ungracefully and joined Zuko at the fire.

"What's the fare for today?" he asked, rubbing his hands and trying hard to dismiss his concern. Zuko waved some dried meat at him, and tossed a hunk of bread. Sokka tore into it eagerly. "Your buddy come back?"

Light was just beginning to stain the morning with yellow and a purple sort of blue, stealing from the horizon to spread over the sky, promising a clear day for travel. Sokka spread out the map on his bedroll, careful to avoid the still-dewy ground. "About three days more," he announced, tracing a finger down the routes they'd use.

Zuko leaned over. "Wait. That pass is blocked." He pointed at a skinny line that snaked between painted mountain ranges. "The Earth Kingdom town just beyond it caved in the pass to protect themselves during the war."

Extreme measures. Not for the first time, Sokka wished that they could have taken a Fire Nation war balloon. He also wished that taking a Fire Nation war balloon wasn't an open invitation for suspicious Earthbenders to launch a few boulders their direction. "As the lemur flies, it'd only be a day or two more," he said wistfully. "Caved, you say? Wonder if the Eelhound could make it over the mountain." He didn't mention that it would be hard riding, but he didn't have to. Going around the mountain range would take another five days.

Zuko gave him a way out. "There's a road that's not on the map," he said, outlining an invisible trail. "Uncle told me about it before I left. The Day Road. It's about two days further than the blocked pass, but it's shorter than the alternative. It leads through the mountain, then keeps level until it drops down a little on the other side. It's kind of a—"

"If you say 'secret tunnel,' you and I will have problems," Sokka warned.

Curiosity was sketched in Zuko's upraised brow but he chose not to ask. He hadn't yet been illuminated as to some of their more obscure adventures. "It was a road made and used by pirates and thieves, once—a long time ago," Zuko added, seeing the sour face he was getting. "They're long gone, dead a hundred years. The road was never put on the map."

"So how is it that your uncle knows about it?" the tribesman asked, picking at his bread. "Must have been a colorful guy in his youth."

"The road's not a _secret_. Not anymore." Cajolingly, he said, "What, are you scared of pirates?"

Sokka fell over on his back. Zuko, trying to sly him into doing something? It was laughable. "No, just sick of them. Fine, whatever. Why do they call it the Day Road? And by the way, pirates could not have tunneled through a mountain. The whole point of piracy is maximum reward for minimal effort. They just wouldn't have the patience, and probably not the tools. Something else did that."

That was a thought that Zuko hadn't had yet, and it itched uncomfortably in the the back of his head. "A badgermole, probably. Anyway, whatever it was, it's long gone by now. The smugglers used it for years."

"Uh huh. And if it's so safe, why did they stop?"

When Zuko couldn't come up with an answer, Sokka added, "And I'm sick of badgermoles too. But if it's the only way to go quickly, then I'll shut up and stop complaining." He grinned to show the Fire Lord that he wasn't really concerned about it.

Now it was Zuko that was appearing apprehensive, but as he'd raised the suggestion Sokka was sure that it went against his pride, or whatever it was that was the source of all stubbornness—a "guy thing," he'd overheard Katara say once, how unfair—to renege on his idea. Still, there was always some small satisfaction in instilling a healthy worry where it hadn't resided before. In a way, Sokka did his best to sow doubt in prideful minds and raise a good strong crop of better reason. Suki had stared at him after he'd explained that to her, when he'd been a little airheaded from the poultice a healer had given to him while they attached a splint to his leg, as painfully as possible he'd been fairly certain.

"Let's just get on with it."

* * *

"The Lotus Tile," Iroh proclaimed proudly, surveying his beloved tea shop. "A fitting name, I think, for my business."

After refinishing the shop looked much like it had, except this time Iroh had spared no expense as to luxury. The seats were comfortable and padded with stuffed silks; the tables were polished and sanded down to a fluid smoothness, and the teapots were an exceptional ceramic patterned with symbols of all the nations. Lotuses were emblazoned sporadically throughout the room, although none would catch its meaning but himself and the extraordinary youths he knew. "Li, if you could fetch an old man a pot from the back."

Li was a skinny boy who'd served in one of the city's lower ring potshops until Iroh had happened to chance on him one day and smell the delightful brew the boy had strained. He had some great potential. That is, if ever he overcame his handicapping shyness. Whenever the renowned general so much as spoke a word to him, the poor boy turned beet red and stammered his replies, often slopping tea over himself and tripping over nothing. Due to this habit Iroh had given him a full apron to wear.

"Y-Yes, sir," the boy bit out, and with shaking hands managed to pour a cup of tea without spilling it across the table. Improvement. They were getting somewhere, at least. Soon Li might even be able to look him in the eyes.

Soon the Lotus Tile would be a den of cheerfully clinking ceramic and happy gossip. Iroh was a quiet fool for gossip—not the sort that rocked nations, but the simple, everyday whisperings of the next door neighbor, the couple across the street. At first the denizens of Ba Sing Se may approach him cautiously, but he stood by what he'd told the Water Tribe boy—where there was good tea, there was someone to appreciate it. They would come to know and accept him.

He looked forward to the next morning, when he'd take down the sign proclaiming "Coming Soon" and open the doors, allowing his new life to filter in with the customers. For the moment he was basking in the feeling of accomplishment.

A gravelly voice broke into his thoughts like a wave breaking roughly over the shore. "Good evening, General."

Iroh opened his eyes to see a granite face and green, lots of green. He was fairly sure his vision would be ever emerald-tainted if he lived his life out in this city as he planned. "Good evening, General Fong," he said pleasantly, not skipping a breath. "But you need no longer address my humble self as such. It is only Iroh now."

Behind him, Li nearly squeaked in fright, overwhelmed by two towering presences in the space of a room. Without bothering to disguise his nervousness, he set the pot down and hurriedly bowed his way back to the kitchens. Fong dismissed him as soon as he'd disappeared from sight.

Fong sat himself in a chair next to the proud shop owner. A presumptuous move, as Iroh had not asked for him to sit, but the old general allowed the slight to pass lightly. "Iroh," Fong continued, turning the name over as though inspecting it in a new light. "Are you sure you wish to abandon the name _General_, or better yet; _Dragon of the West_? They aren't titles so much as lives, and are not cast away so easily."

"Which do you mean, titles or lives?" Iroh pointed out, pouring the man a cup of tea. "For it seems to me that the former ought to be more dispensable than the latter."

Squinting, Fong appeared to regard this as a semantic trick and one he did not appreciate. Nor did the cup of perfectly brewed tea seem to meet his esteem. He didn't touch it. "Let me make this visit brief," he said.

"It is not my habit to usher guests out the door after concluding a business," Iroh said gently, reclining a little and folding his hands placidly in his lap. "Stay a while, and enjoy our fine tea. My shop opens tomorrow."

"So I see," Fong said gravely, casting an appraising eye about the place and staring hard at each item. Iroh was amused. Did the man think he'd hidden weapons under every table and behind every scroll, preparations for a one-man uprising? "Are you sure it is wise to reopen a tea shop so soon after a war has concluded?" Doubt clouded the last word, with good reason.

The old general knew this was a topic he must be sensitive to. Young Sokka was not wholly mistaken in his skepticism of Ba Sing Se's capability to forgive and forget, and their short address of the subject had prepared Iroh somewhat for the words he knew he'd encounter eventually. "I have not been a soldier for many years," he reminded the man. "My only concern now is my simple business. Surely the worthy citizens of this city will see that."

"They see what they want to see," Fong murmured, almost to himself. Layers of meaning dragged each word into gloom. "Not necessarily what's there."

Iroh chuckled. "Are you suggesting that I mean to use my shop as headquarters for a fresh rebellion? General, I think it is you who sees what he desires to." The Earthbender reddened at the soft rebuke, plainly unaccustomed to such words spoken to his face. "Actually look," Iroh urged. "This teapot is nothing more than that; a teapot. The chairs are for sitting, the scrolls for artistic appreciation, the tea for drinking. When I bring in a Tsungi horn, it will remain a musical instrument. All here is only as it appears to be."

"Of course," Fong's lips said, but his eyes said something else. "However, soaking leaves in water does little to absolve crimes already committed."

"Do you mean to arrest me?"

The bluntness of the question took Fong aback, and his mouth twisted dangerously close to a sneer. "The Earth King has pardoned you," he admitted grudgingly.

"But you have not."

Again, Fong was caught off guard. Surprise did not settle well with him, and this time nothing prevented a scowl. "Some of us are not so quick to forgive."

"And what wrong have I done you, good sir?" the old general inquired, blowing a tiny breath of flame to heat his tea. There was a message there, one that Fong did not miss if his expression were to be judged. Whatever his age Iroh was ever the Dragon of the West. "You were a young whelp when I lay siege to this city, many years ago. In fact, I likely did you a favor."

"By clearing away good men so that I might advance?" Fong snapped, his pretense abandoned. "A sorry boon. A wrong done to my country is a wrong done to me, and I don't think we've been avenged."

"Your patriotism is admirable, but my age ought to avenge you sooner or later," Iroh said mildly. His casual manner inflamed the general, sending more color up to his cheeks. "I am, after all, not a young man, and all men must end."

Fong growled, "They must. You have the right of that, at least." If it was a threat, Iroh did not react to the heat. Instead, he poured himself more tea and added a mint leaf. Sweet fumes rising from the steamy liquid served to defend his temper against the general's ire and overbold statements.

"Surely you did not come here simply to harangue me, a doddering old man," he said contentedly. "What is your purpose for visiting?"

His question was met with a glower and an insolent silence. Fong did not like to be verbally bullied into giving answers, even if Iroh's attack had been soft as feathers. "What is your nephew doing in the south?"

"My, if only I knew. Zuko does not consult with me on every matter. I assume he is doing what he can to patch reparations with villages down there."

"If he can. Why does he need the Water Tribe boy?" Fong asked bluntly. "Why nobody else?"

"Sokka—that's his name, I'm sure you remember," Iroh smiled knowingly and Fong flushed, "is a friend of my nephew's and a diffusing element. Perhaps Zuko simply preferred his company to an honor guard."

Both men knew these words were only gilt over a mysterious foundation, but the glory of justice was that General Fong couldn't _prove_ it. "I can assure you," Iroh added anyway, "that my nephew has no intention of traipsing about and raising an army. He's got a perfectly good one already. Why would he feel a need to take back what he already has?"

"What does he have? A crown, a nation, an army. His father wanted four of each. Will he settle for only a quarter of what his forebears warred a century for?"

"'Settle?' The crown is his birthright and he did not settle for it. He fought for it, and nearly lost his life." The ghost of fear welled in his stomach; worry that had built up over long years still haunted him. "He wants no more than peace."

Fong darkened. "I'm not interested in peace. Justice sounds better to me. You know what your nephew is doing, and he's not making rounds of impoverished villages. He has a mission. I want to know what it is. Better than I find from you."

"Better from me," Iroh echoed, and his face grew dangerous. "Better from me, than from whom?" The words were said softly, yet with a thundering weight. Fong did not answer, but merely gave him an arch look. "You are having him followed," the old general deadpanned, wondering why he bothered to be surprised.

The Earthbender did not even have the grace to look abashed. "Nothing will happen to them," he said unashamedly. "Not so long as they don't try anything stupid."

_That may be a tall order_, Iroh thought, marshaling his anger. "Foolish man. Do you imagine that after everything they have experienced, you are a threat to them still? It is your men who ought to be cautioned."

Allowing himself a pronounced sneer—by this time, all pretenses had been dropped—Fong slid his untouched tea back across the table. "We shall see. In the meantime, I have one more question for you before I depart."

"By all means, ask. I do not guarantee an answer."

"Is the boy's mother dead?"

Narrowing his eyes, Iroh met the general's confident gaze. "Ursa has been gone for a long time," he growled. "Most likely she is."

Fong raised himself and left without a backwards glance. Turning to look back at the kitchen, Iroh saw Li's wide brown eyes staring back at him.

* * *

Thanks for the reviews!


	4. Chapter 4

Thank you for all the comments! Your suggestions have been really helpful and I'm keeping them all in mind as I write.

Aftershocks

Chapter Four

Smiling, General Iroh heard the Avatar before he saw him. The boy was happily chattering, his voice resounding with a young exuberance that Iroh envied and wasn't sure he ever really had. Then Aang bounded into view, Momo as ever flitting right behind, and gave a joyous exclamation when he saw the general standing to receive him. "Iroh!" Though he'd shouldered the burdened of a grown man, a legion of grown men, nothing prohibited him from wrapping his arms around Iroh in a charmingly childish display. Looking at him, there might never have been a war.

Iroh prayed his guileless nature never soured, but feared it would.

Katara followed behind the Avatar, and greeted Iroh warmly. If nothing else, she could be depended upon to protect him—from what, the general could not yet define. "I'm glad to see you both looking well," he smiled, standing back.

"There's _so_ many things happening," Aang said excitedly, and proceeded to rattle off positive developments occurring in a region of the kingdom that had been sorely afflicted during the war. Iroh was genuinely pleased but wondered what the smiles turned to when the Avatar was no longer there to see them.

_He is right, though._ So many things were happening, and it would prove difficult to sort out the good from the bad. One could say that the war had ended in an unfortunate way; a century of momentum didn't—couldn't—grind to a screeching halt as it had, liable to send the hapless world flying off the saddle. Inertia overwhelmed reason, and the nations would take much longer to adjust to the transition than it took for the transformation itself to occur. Ideally change would have been brought about gradually. The end of the war had been so uncertain, freedom and chance all but lost, that nobody had bothered to even consider victory, let alone plan for the future.

And now it was up to a thirteen-year-old boy who was still very much a boy, even if a wise one. And his nephew.

Aang flopped down on a cushion. Katara sat herself gracefully beside him, and poured some tea for the general. Rather than let himself be distracted by the gently wafting fragrance, Iroh said to them, "An assembly has been declared for tomorrow night, by the Earth King and his chief advisors." Privately he thought Kuei had little to do with it, and the hums in his ear had demanded the conference.

"Everyone's having assemblies," Aang responded, blowing a puff of air at Momo and giggling. "The lower ring's having an assembly to decide whether or not to let that stack of tanks stand. Nobody wants it tipping over on their house, but nobody wants to tear it down either. I might ask Toph to bronze it."

Everyone wants a memorial, the thought trailed his memories. "A fashionable eyesore, I'm sure. But this conference is rather more than a town meeting. Discussion will focus on international relations." How horribly diplomatically said.

Katara peered at him, perplexed. "Isn't that the sort of thing Zuko ought to be here for?"

"Unfortunately he is not, and progress must continue without him." Zuko had known what he was doing before leaving to search for his mother; Iroh had made sure of that. It was an action that willfully disclaimed authority in any developments made in his absence. That was fine, so long as the world didn't erupt in war again.

Smile fading, Aang sank further into his cushion. "Another meeting," he yawned. "I'm a _monk_. Monks aren't diplomats. What's so complex about peace?"

Without knowing it, he'd hit the heart of the matter in a sharp shot. Peace wasn't a matter of laying down arms and shaking hands; it was the culmination of conciliation, compromise, and squashed feelings, and a few threats. "There are a lot of people to placate, Aang," Iroh intoned. "Embers glow even after the fire dies."

Reading into the words, Katara glanced at him sharply in a manner reminiscent of her brother. "So what exactly do they want from this conference?"

"I don't know," Iroh answered, finally lifting his cup and remembering the last company he'd had for tea. "I was not informed as to their intent. But it seems to me, this timing is perhaps not so inconvenient to them."

They would see.

* * *

"Sokka, just pay him."

"No! He's scamming me." Sokka threw a dark look at the merchant, who grinned toothily. "Six pieces and that's _it_, old man."

Zuko wasn't fooled. The tribesman was clearly having a ball haggling; shopping was a delight he hadn't expected from him and yet seemed so natural. Sighing, Zuko scuffed his boot and looked around the crowded market, where vendors and shoppers pressed in close, arguing and laughing and cursing, sometimes in that order. One table had an array of glittering weapons fanned out artfully, and it was to this that Sokka had drifted.

"Don't you think you have enough sharp objects handy?" he asked, eying the wicked knife Sokka was examining longingly. "You're already a disaster waiting to happen. Just one trip and you're a pincushion."

"Then what's one more hole going to matter?" Sokka sang, then launched into eager squabbling again.

Turning away, Zuko wandered over to a stall crowded with odd antique junk. A battered miniature pai sho set caught his eye. Would Uncle like it? He had no lack of gaming provisions, but Zuko inspected it anyway. Some jewelry in the fashion of the Fire Nation glimmered from the corner of a table. Its presence surprised him. "Where'd this come from?" he asked the stall owner, indicating the ornaments.

The vendor glanced briefly up from his bowl of noodles. "Merchants waddling through, got stuff from all over. I have some Water Tribe stuff too." He gestured at some necklaces of teeth, a polished bone club and some minor trinkets. "It's a hit with the young fools parading themselves around, thinks it makes 'em look tough." His face twisted wryly. "Girls eat it up."

Not Zuko's girl; she'd laugh straight out at him. Nodding, he prodded vaguely at the other artifacts.

He hardly paid attention to what he was picking up. A thin panic suddenly wrapped icy fingers around his heart; he was in a village, still two days from the Day Road, what was he _doing_ here, his mother was waiting for him. Maybe even now she was sitting at a window, wondering where her son was and why he hadn't come to get her yet. Did she think he wouldn't come? Had she resigned herself to live beyond his reach? Insensible, illogical, and baseless, but it gnawed at him anyway and his hand shook, dropping the tiny jewel case he'd been holding.

He took a step back just as someone behind him barked, "There you are, you little—" Zuko stumbled bodily into what felt like a wall of flesh.

"Hey! Watch it!" the voice snarled . Zuko whirled around to meet face-to-chin with a tall man that at first sight he mistook for a small mooselion, so massive were his shoulders. Patterns were tattooed across his arms and neck and piercings dotted his brows, ears and nose. Glaring green eyes shone from under thick brown eyebrows. Briefly, Zuko mused what it was about himself that attracted trouble and attention wherever he went.

Gripped tightly by one of the giant's hands was a pale, thin man wearing garish clothing, and looking nearly oily enough to ooze from the grasp as firm as it was. Apparently Zuko had interrupted another man's unlucky confrontation with the behemoth.

"Sorry," muttered the young lord, and turned his face away. One of the man's hands, the size of a plate, clamped firmly on his shoulder.

"You better watch it, or you'll be more than sorry," the man growled. Several shoppers began to edge away, visibly nervous. "Do you know who you just slammed into?"

Zuko might have asked him the same thing. The man whose neck was currently encased by the giant's beefy hold seemed very willing to inform him. "It was just an accident," he pointed out, noticing that the vendor he'd been speaking to a mere moment ago had shrunk out of sight. Evidently his antagonist enjoyed a reputation around the area. "I said sorry, what else do you want?"

In the crowd of gaping onlookers he saw Sokka's head pop up, his face bemused. A brief roll of the eyes. Indignation flared hot in Zuko's chest—it wasn't _his_ fault.

"Maybe I should leave a scar for that other eye," taunted the leviathan. Men began to materialize around him; thin and thick, all seedy and wielding malicious looks like hammers. Zuko allowed his palm to heat up, ever so slightly. He'd prefer to avoid a confrontation by bending, but physically he had to admit his disadvantage. Nobody appeared to recognize him as their liege lord and he wouldn't reveal himself. Either his revelation would be laughed at or it would award scrutiny he didn't want. Incapacitated as he was, Sokka could be no help.

Hope flared up in the eyes of the giant's thin captive as he sensed an escape from whatever punishment he had been destined for, practically begging Zuko to do something profoundly stupid.

"Kids these days," offered one reedy acolyte. "No respect. Maybe you ought to show him some."

Now it was Zuko who fought the urge to roll his eyes. Was there no originality in bullying anymore? At least Azula was always creative with her insults and attacks. "Yeah, teach me some manners," he sneered before he could help himself. Inadvertently he'd probably granted the thin man's wish. Though he didn't actually see Sokka slap a hand to his forehead, he heard it.

Astonishment flashed in the giant's eyes and those of his friends, giving Zuko a good guess that he wasn't used to being challenged. Just to fan the flames, Sokka catcalled from the crowd. "Yeah, teach the punk some manners."

Some friend. Zuko glared and Sokka grinned cheekily back. The giant quickly regained his composure and Zuko took a second look at the motley group. Far from being the average village hotbloods, these men had the look of dangerous callings—piracy, or thieving. Too far out of the way to be of much concern to either the beleaguered Earth Kingdom forces or the Fire Nation officials indifferent to inter-village squabbles, creatures like these had been allowed to flourish.

"Yes, what an impertinent boy," oozed the thin man still in the leader's grip. "Perhaps you and your worthy fellows ought to indulge his request. I'm just a simple tradesman, nothing to that insolent—"

"Shut up," the giant shook him roughly. "I'm not through with you."

Instinct took over in a situation like this. At least five men surrounded him, slowly drawing edged weapons from discreet folds and pockets. One had pulled out a mace from goodness knew where. Swinging it gently from side to side, he crouched low. Could he work his way out of this without firebending? Zuko cursed leaving his twin swords with the Eelhound and attempted to gauge just how fancy of footwork he'd need to pull himself from the thick of it. His legs spread in a familiar stance and he raised his hands to eye level.

However, Sokka wasn't finished. "I mean, what nerve!" he fumed, pushing through the crowd and hobbling right over. "You should work him over a little, slap him around some. D'you want to borrow my crutch?" he offered eagerly, balancing on one leg while he held it out. "Bet it'd leave some wicked welts."

The giant looked him over warily, unsure of the strange boy's sincerity. But Sokka was all beaming helpfulness, wiggling the crutch invitingly. "Who are you?" the man demanded.

"Just a fan," declared Sokka with a hand over his heart. "You guys are an inspiration. Honestly I've been looking to get into thuggery. Is there a club? Do I have to sign up, or can I just join? Are there tryouts?"

"Are you serious?" asked one man uncertainly.

The tribesman was thunderstruck. "Serious? You bet! Hooligan," he spat at Zuko. "Picking fights with the wrong people. Guys like these need to know their place."

"He's kind of shrimpy," one of the men judged, nudging another.

Sokka rounded on them. "Who said that?" he demanded, hopping on his good leg in fury. "I'm svelte! A one man army. Just gimpy for a little while." His chest puffed impressively. "Why, I only got this injury wrestling a rabid gorillagoat."

Snickers began to be stifled from covered mouths in the crowd. Far from bolstered by the strangely-dressed boy's enthusiasm, the men started to look uneasy as they sensed they were the butt of an unspoken joke. Zuko half-expected one of them to land a fist in Sokka's mouth; that, or sign him to a contract. "Let's go," one muttered. "C'mon, Tao."

The giant took a lingering look at Zuko and reluctantly stepped back, holding up a finger thick as a sausage at him. "You'd better scram out of town soon, brat. Next time I catch you, you won't be so lucky."

It was such an imbecilic threat that Zuko opened his mouth to say so when an elbow jabbed him sharply in the ribs. Gritting his teeth Zuko ground out, "I'll try."

Disappointment was etched all over the tribesman's face. "Not even a little beating?" he asked hopefully.

In response the men began to slink away. The leader looked down at the skinny guy in his grip only to find—he'd vanished. "Hey!" he thundered. "Scheming little—find him! _Get him_!" It seemed his sudden hesitation didn't extend to his first victim, and he tore away in hot pursuit.

"Wonder what that guy did," mused Sokka.

Zuko answered with a sharp jab in the ribs to match the one he'd received, but not fiercely enough to leave him guilty about hitting a cripple. "Were you trying to get me killed?"

"'Trying' is a subjective term. I can't believe they didn't want me in their club. Not even as a gopher-rat." For the life of him, Zuko couldn't figure if the vexation crossing Sokka's face was genuine.

"I had the situation handled," he declared. "You think I need defended from the likes of those?" He might have been more grateful if the tribesman weren't so obviously smug.

The other boy shrugged, smiling vaguely around at the people still milling around, watching with curiosity at the sudden camaraderie between the smart-mouth and the boy who'd so eagerly volunteered his services to a feared group of criminals.

A beaming face burst before them. "Well done, well done," said the man, with a great show of hands. It took Zuko a moment to recognize him as the same that had been snared by the giant and had disappeared at some unidentifiable point in the confrontation, and as it happened had also heartily welcomed trading his own skin for Zuko's.

Seeing the look on the Fire Lord's face, the oily man made a flouncing bow. "No hard feelings there, lad," he said in an unctuous voice. "But one must admit, your interruption was timely for my well-being. You understand." To Sokka he praised, "Very clever. I saw what you did there. You've got a talent for conflict resolution."

Zuko was tempted to correct that and say that Sokka had a talent for driving people away. Bemused, the tribesman said nothing, and merely yawned.

Turning away from the stranger, Zuko growled a "Whatever" over his shoulder. "Come on," he said to Sokka.

The stranger wasn't finished with them. "And where are you fine lads from?" he inquired, his long legs keeping pace with them easily.

Zuko hadn't paid more than cursory attention to the man's unusual appearance during the heated exchange. Now he stared. Stars spangled the stranger's fine vest and he wore green leggings that emphasized his scrawny knees. His sleeves were absurdly puffed, and he wore a bandanna wrapped around his head and knotted at the back. When he moved, a hoop earring glimmered from behind strands of dark hair.

Instead of answering the question Zuko asked, "What are you?"

The stranger appeared humbly flattered by the notice. "Nothing more than a modest entertainer, a shower of tricks as it were. What your friend does with words I manage with slight of hand." To illustrate his words he waved his long hand and a rose appeared, there in his palm. He waved it again and the rose changed color.

"Cool," Sokka complimented with interest. The stranger beamed and bowed.

"Only a slight example," he assured, and added theatrically, "My name is Batzorig."

_Sounds made up_, thought Zuko.

"Sounds made up," said Sokka.

"Yes, well," Batzorig said a little peevishly. "All performers require a stage name. I'm sure you have some as well."

"That's none of your business. And what did you do to get in trouble with that guy?" Zuko asked aggressively.

The stranger sighed, though a twinkle was in his eye. "Not all men appreciate my art," he bemoaned. "I demonstrate some of my superb illusions, for free might I add, and they go about saying that I stole their purses."

Zuko snorted. "You're a thief," he said flatly. Batzorig even made a simple shrug seem dramatic.

"We all ply our trade to make ends meet," reasoned the illusionist. "Let me assure you, my methods require no less toil than the most broken-backed field hand. Every penny is hard earned, if not honestly so. And truly, am I so great a criminal in comparison to the likes of them?" He jabbed a thumb at where they'd exited the market square.

"Why are you trying to rationalize this to me?" Zuko asked sourly. This was a waste of time. He turned his shoulder on the nuisance and Sokka hobbled after him, muttering something about dinner.

They'd considered lodging at an inn that night but he'd sooner camp with the Eelhound than keep the company found in this village. War had destabilized the infrastructure of common society, so that thieves and bullies took up positions of terror that weren't already assumed by marauding bands of Fire Nation soldiers and occupiers. Just one more thing to add to the towering agenda teetering over Zuko's reign. Would he be spending the rest of his life cleaning up the mess?

"Colorful guy," Sokka commented as they walked. "So did he fleece you just now? Just wondering."

Zuko's hand immediately went to his pockets, and he cursed loudly.


	5. Chapter 5

Sokka's first reaction was to laugh.

"Shut up!" Zuko snapped, frantically searching the rest of his pockets. "I don't believe it—he got everything."

Shrugging, Sokka hobbled closer. "Money, whatever. We got enough supplies to last us a while and we can fish if we have to. We've gotten along without money before."

For his words Sokka received a glare that was as heated as a fine spray of firebending. "It's not the money," snarled the Fire Lord. "He stole our map!"

The tribesman's grin faded a little. "I thought we knew the way. Do we need it?"

"We're not on a flying bison anymore. Navigating is a little harder when you're traveling on the ground and not above it."

"Stars," Sokka pointed out. "Sun, moss, our handsome shadows. Mine, anyway. We won't get lost."

To this Zuko darkened and straightened, working his knuckles in a way that Sokka knew meant he was not about to walk away from this. "Did you happen to see what was on the back of that map?"

Somehow Sokka figured he couldn't provide an answer to the question that either one of them would like. "Treasure map? Your bad poetry?"

"Another map. One that detailed the Day Road."

Sokka shook a crutch at him warningly. "Why does the Day Road need a map? If I don't like the answer I'm going to throw this at you. Labyrinths!" he exploded before Zuko had a chance to confirm his fears. "What is the obsession with tunnel mazes? Why can't anyone just walk in a straight line?"

"The road was used by _pirates_," Zuko said, far too primly to keep Sokka from jabbing at him with the crutch. "Do you think smugglers would make it that easy?"

"I think they'd be lazy enough to try," Sokka replied glumly. "I hope you realize this almost definitely means something else dug the tunnels. That's serious manpower. Okay, go grab what's-his-name and kick his ass. What, you waiting for my blessing?"

Zuko looked around uncertainly. The village was substantially larger than a gaggle of huts clustered together; there were numerous yards or potshops in which the magician could have been hiding. He jogged off to a side alley, searching around. Somehow Sokka doubted an illusionist would need a typical hiding place. Instead he spied a curious farmer who had paused in his route toting vegetables in a cart to stare at them.

"Hey!" Sokka hollered at him. "You see a guy in gnarly tights around?"

A faint grin broke over the farmer's weathered features. "He get you too?" he called back. "Half the town's baying for his blood by now. He went down this street—" the man pointed and Zuko immediately began to race in that direction— "which means he's probably somewhere over there," he finished, gesturing to the street branching off the opposite side of them. Zuko skidded to a halt and spun around, frustrated.

Reluctantly, he returned to where Sokka lingered. The tribesman smiled in a way that was a little mocking but just sympathetic enough to take the edge off. "Tell you what," he said. "I know it goes against our nature as men but we may just have to ask for directions."

"What about the Day Road?" the Fire Lord pointed out.

"Ah. That."

"That old pirate road?" the farmer piped, coming closer and overhearing them. The wheels of his battered wheelbarrow clattered against loose stones. "Why are you bothering with that?"

Zuko looked about to tell the man to mind his own business but after a second thought better of it. Remarkable restraint. "To take the shortcut through the mountain."

"Kids these days," snorted the farmer. "Always in a hurry. What's so important you got to use it?"

Now Zuko told him to mind his business. The farmer shrugged, unperturbed, as though used to the ill manners city kids threw around. "You don't need to say it," he said wisely. "You're either up to something illegal or just something sneaky. I never gone on the Day Road, but my pa always said—mind the curves."

"Curves?" Sokka echoed. "I like curves." Zuko elbowed him viciously, and the farmer smirked. "Still, what about them?"

"Like I know? It's just what he said. He also said that if you plant cabbages at the full moon they grow up purple." He held up a slightly withered, very not purple head of cabbage. "His advice, you take it or leave it."

Zuko looked none too convinced, but determination lined the frustration and Sokka knew he wasn't about to give up on the Day Road. At this point the tribesman felt somewhat inclined to intervene. "Zuko, a few more days' travel isn't going to kill us," he said gently, steeling himself against the sudden jerk of Zuko's head. "Better than getting lost inside a mountain, right?"

The prince didn't respond, but the farmer did, catching Sokka's mistake instantly and widening his eyes. "Zuko?" he repeated, all awe. "Prince—I mean, _Fire Lord_ Zuko?"

"No, the _other_ Zuko," said Sokka, furious with himself. "They're everywhere. Can't swing a dead lemur without hitting one."

The farmer barely heard him but dropped the cabbage, and it rolled to Zuko's feet. He put it back in the basket and made an awkward gesture a bit like a regal wave. With an eyeroll Sokka grabbed his shoulder and started pushing him off, mumbling thanks to the awestruck villager.

"And Uncle said you'd be keeping me from doing anything stupid," Zuko observed wryly. "What do you want to do about the map?"

"Forget the map; we're men and men don't need maps," Sokka said, refuting his earlier words.

"Men also don't ask for directions."

"Men don't ask for anything. They _take_. We'll take directions."

This conversation, Zuko thought, was ludicrous. "The Eelhound should probably be able to find its way through. Animal instinct or something."

"How exactly did we save the world again?"

Despite himself, Zuko smiled. "Maybe we should go around the mountain. She won't—I don't think a few extra days will hurt."

Sokka stared ahead for a moment and didn't answer. They were nearing their Eelhound at the edge of the village. It snuffled happily at them and Zuko dug some fruit out that they'd purchased, tossing it to the creature which snapped it up quickly. Zuko patted its head briefly and began digging out their camping equipment, expecting Sokka to begin the fire as always. When he turned around, he saw the tribesman still standing there and looking at him strangely.

Then, Sokka shrugged and knocked a pebble with his crutch. "You're probably right, the Eelhound ought to be able to sense the fresh air and find its way through." And as an afterthought, he added, "Have we got a banjo or flute or something like that?"

"No," said Zuko, at once bewildered and grateful.

"Can you sing? I can't."

"No..."

"Darn. Could bust out my haiku rapping—"

Zuko blanched. "Please don't. Why are you asking this?"

"Just in case the tunnels shift," Sokka said mysteriously, and went to make the fire. The fire lord was nonplussed for a moment, then remembered who he was dealing with and with a shake of his head returned to the Eelhound.

* * *

This was a really difficult chapter to write, obviously--seeing as it's several months overdue and really short. I was stuck figuring stuff out in the plotline buuuut I think I've got the kinks worked out; some minor revising might be done to previous chapters but not enough that it changes anything.


	6. Chapter 6

Thanks for sticking with this. :) Comments are exceedingly helpful.

* * *

The mountain loomed ahead of them. As far as mountains went this wasn't much larger or smaller than any other they'd encountered, but it dwarfed them all the same. Behind him, Zuko heard the tribesman whistle. "That's some rock."

Zuko squinted, feeling more uncertain than he hoped he looked. He'd looked at the map of the Day Road enough that he knew the entrance was stuck vaguely in the center of the base, but said base was wide enough that pinpointing the center wouldn't be easy. He jumped off the Eelhound to get a look on foot. Sokka remained seated, not being the jumping type at the moment.

Morning had dawned clear and cold, gradually warming as the sun broached the horizon and meandered its way up. The moon had been out during the night, but it was shrouded by thick clouds and didn't show for more than a minute. Sokka, oddly quiet, had stared where it lay hidden beyond the cotton canopy as though hoping for it to appear. Zuko wondered if all Water Tribe drew strength from the moon, and not only the waterbenders. With the dawn, however, Sokka had returned to his old annoying self. A complaint dangled like a knife from the tip of his tongue, threatening to drop.

Finally: "Do you have any idea where--"

"Oh shut up," snarled Zuko, and then a wire trigger in his instincts twinged, and he spun around and stood up suddenly, scanning the woods behind them.

Sokka frowned and twisted around awkwardly in his seat. "What are you looking for? Boogums and ghosties again?"

"I _told_ you somebody was following us and I was right," Zuko said. "I know somebody's watching us, I sensed it." He strained his ears; was that the crack of a branch? To answer, a slight movement between two trees betrayed the presence of a deer grazing at a grassy patch. It froze in the peculiar way of its species and stared at them, then with a sudden jerky movement bounded away. Still, a nagging sensation whispered at him.

Sokka quieted and lent his eyes to the search for a moment. Other than the lone deer, the trees were silent and still in the light morning mist. "I don't see anything," he said uncertainly. "Just a breakfast I can't run after. Besides, it might not even be the same person. As much as you attract trouble, who's going to follow us into a mountain? Assuming, of course, we can find the entrance. This is kind of a bad start."

Like so many things he'd known, the object of Zuko's search appeared as soon as he wasn't looking for it. His eyes idly raked the forest line pushing close to the mountain, and between a mass of branches he spotted a gaping mouth, dark against the leaves illuminated in the morning light and raised twenty feet off the flat ground. "There!" He pointed, momentarily distracted. "Right there. See? And it's wide enough for the Eelhound."

"Oh goody," Sokka said darkly, and nudged the beast to move.

The path leading up to the entrance was wedged in close to the sudden, steep side of the mountain's base, and it was strewn with treacherous rocks. Thorny shrubs pressed in close from the other side of the narrow stip. The eelhound hooted in annoyance, and Sokka had to continually duck branches stuck out like errant legs, hoping to trip up passerby. Zuko led the two while kicking some of the loose rocks away. And then they were in front of it.

It was larger than it had seemed from a couple hundred feet away, well wide enough to allow the eelhound comfortable room. The animal swayed warily but did not complain when Sokka urged it forward, apprehension clearly writ upon his own face. Still, as they stepped inside the mouth the tribesman cupped his hands and hollered. The sound bounced down the stretch of tunnel that lay in front of them, echoing into the darkness.

For a moment they stood there, teetering on the brink where daylight dissolved into constant darkness. Then Zuko extended his hand and, almost thoughtfully, unfurled his fingers. A spark winked into existence, and then blossomed until it colored the tunnel a deep russet. The eelhound huffed, and began to shuffle forward. Zuko kept ahead of it while lighting the way, every so often sending a tendril spiraling a ways before them to illuminate what lay further down. The window of light behind them, marking where they had entered, dwindled until it seemed as though the mouth had closed on them, and they were walking into the stomach of some strange beast. Always used to open air, the lord felt like he was being slowly swallowed.

At first the way was more or less straight and even, with a few rough twists that snarled the path. The structure of the tunnel was more or less rounded, but near the bottom the sides were marred every so often by deep lacerations, like gashes. Zuko stuck a finger in one; the grooves were several inches deep. Sokka twisted to look down at one with worry. "That is so creepy."

They hadn't spoken for the ten minutes they'd gone so far, and the words traveled strangely. "What's creepy?"

"Do those look like slashes to you?"

"They were probably made when the tunnels were built."

"I'm sure of it," Sokka said darkly. The hair on Zuko's neck rose, but he shook off the spooky feeling with an effort.

"You are such a killjoy," he said. Sokka sputtered indignantly, as the fire lord knew he would.

"This? Coming from _you_?" the tribesman demanded. "If I'm a killjoy, you're a stuff-it-in-a-sack-and-set-fire-to-it-joy. You make paranoia an art. You could paint pictures with it." Zuko laughed, and tried to ignore the grooves. "So why do they call it the Day Road?"

The prince scuffed a pebble. "Because it takes a day to get through to the other side." _Or an eternity, if you get lost_. Even Sokka didn't care to point that out. Suddenly he felt awkward. "You know, uh—you didn't really have to come, you know. With me, I mean. I mean, I'm not saying I didn't want you—"

"It's okay if you didn't. But somebody has to keep you from, you know, picking fights with village idiots, stuff like that. Your uncle apparently considered me the guy for it." Sokka stopped to consider. "Toph would have egged you on, I'm positive."

Zuko was tempted to laugh again, but he was aware that the tribesman was trying to divert the subject and it was annoying. Sokka always seemed to avoid sensitive issues, skipping over and around them like he was afraid of catching his foot and falling. "I'm sincere. I know this is a strain on you."

"This is nothing. Try this towing hippies and their lutes along, _that's_ a strain. I was ready to tear my hair out."

"Stop that," Zuko said sharply. "Just let me be serious."

"I can't seem to stop you," Sokka replied after a moment. Zuko kept his gaze steadfastly ahead. "What's the big deal? It's a favor for a friend. Two friends, including Iroh."

The fire lord didn't know what to say to that, so he didn't say anything for a minute. He thought of what Sokka had told him, once, about his mother. There had been such a difference then between the way Sokka and Katara felt about that day, the brother's tempered grief and the sister's unbridled anger. He wondered if Sokka was really so accepting of that tragedy as he'd appeared against Katara's anguish, or if he quietly still harbored the discontent his sister had gone out and conquered.

"Were you close to your mother?" Zuko asked suddenly.

For a moment Sokka looked about to fall off the eelhound. His expression was identical to the one he'd had when Zuko had first brought up the subject to him, in the tent—taken entirely by surprise. "What? I mean, yeah, she was my mom. Is. I mean, of course I was." And then he clammed up.

That bothered Zuko for a reason he couldn't define.

He wondered about his own mother, what she was doing at the moment. Was she still asleep? Was she taking breakfast? Did she think of him when she woke in the morning, did she rise with him in her thoughts? Zuko figured any mother might, being away from her children, but he wasn't sure just how much time anyone could devote to missing somebody. He couldn't even figure out how much time Sokka devoted to missing his mother. What would she think of her son, the fire lord? Did she still think of the young, sweet boy she'd left, and what would she say to the scarred youth that showed up on her doorstep? Sokka seemed absolutely desperate not to continue the conversation, so he didn't voice his concern aloud. But they nagged at him, those persistent, horrible little fears.

He knew she loved him and always would, scar or no. But he also remembered his uncle's look when he fully viewed his nephew's wrecked face for the first time after that fateful day. He dreaded seeing that look on his mother, and knew it would come. In the days to come, he would brace himself, because she couldn't.

They kept walking, and walking, and walking. It was hard to say how much time passed, though Zuko did his best to keep a mental track. He was pretty sure Sokka had fallen asleep on the eelhound, proving his exceptional ability to fall asleep just about anywhere.

The stale, dank air was both damp and warm, and increasingly so the further they traveled into the mountain. The result was a tunnel that was getting stuffier. Zuko was thankful the passage itself was large, or else the combination of the tight space and thick air would have made the journey miserable. A few hours passed (at least, he thought they were a few hours) and Sokka was starting to snore.

Almost without realizing it Zuko stepped into a cavernous space. The ceiling angled sharply up and his little self-made lantern didn't throw the light as it had. He extended the flame, and sent it roaring. The place it revealed was large and round, enough for Appa the bison to fly almost comfortably, and lightened the claustrophobic effect of the tunnels. He stretched to compound the effect.

Sokka woke up and rubbed his leg, looking around. "Is this naturally hollow, or was it carved out?"

The answer looked to be a combination between the two, with the natural cavern widened and dug into with the same deep lacerations evident in the tunnels. The grooves had clearly been made a long time before. "Look," Zuko pointed at one corner.

Piled there were different odds and ends, mostly steel-link chains, hooks, and various other tools, evidently abadoned by the pirates that had used these tunnels in older days. Zuko was surprised. Steel-link chains as long and thick as these took a long time to make, and were expensive. But there they were, left to rust like everything else there. He knelt and rubbed at one, and his finger came away russet from the metal's decay. "They just left all their stuff here."

Behind him, Sokka groaned, and pointed. "There's why."

Zuko turned around and looked to the other side of the expanse, where another heap was massed far larger than that the pirates left. This was an even odder assortment of rocks, rotted timber, and large, strangely rounded smooth stones.

In its arrangement, it looked rather like a giant nest.


End file.
